


chase the morning sun

by scionblad



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Alternate Universe - Art School, Alternate Universe - Fashion School, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 15:13:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7646182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scionblad/pseuds/scionblad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A typical Thursday night spent hammering away with the sewing machines, with only the security guards and mannequins to keep company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	chase the morning sun

**Author's Note:**

> an attempt at capturing the real feeling of art school which i've rarely seen in other fic (though admittedly my experience at art school has been quite unique)

The building that houses most of the fashion studios is open twenty-four hours a day. At later hours of the night, it’s considerably deserted, save for the handful of students writing papers or using the industrial machines in the sewing rooms. That’s where he is right now, probably, Takumi thinks. A typical Thursday night spent hammering away with the sewing machines, with only the security guards and mannequins to keep company.

He checks his phone clock. It’s five minutes until three in the morning, and his phone hasn’t made a sound.

“What, he _still_ hasn’t texted you?” Hinata, sitting in bed wearing only his boxers, mashes buttons on his greasy old controller. He’s playing some kind of niche Japanese action RPG that splatters blood everywhere and glitches frames every two seconds.

“No,” says Takumi, shoving his phone in the pocket of his jeans. “I’m gonna see if Odin will let me use his coffee machine. Want me to leave the door closed?”

“Please,” says Oboro from her seat at the kitchen table, surrounded by paper and watercolor brushes. “If I have to hear one more scream from Hinata’s stupid video game, I’m going to lose it.”

“ _Drakengard 3_ is a work of art and you know it!” Hinata protests as Takumi shuts the door to their shared bedroom. He slips out of the suite after wishing Oboro a brief good luck (she groans in response) and takes the stairs down two floors.

Zero answers the door. “Leon is still sewing,” he says immediately.

“I know that,” Takumi sighs, exasperated. “I’m just here to use Odin’s coffee machine.”

Zero studies him for a moment. “All right, but keep quiet, Odin and Laz are sleeping,” he says, and lets him in.

Takumi skirts around the kitchen table covered with cameras and lenses and plastic containers of film, and sets to work. The scent of tobacco and weed wafts heavily out of Zero and Leon’s room. He checks his phone again while the coffee drips. Still no notifications.

“He hasn’t texted me either, for what it’s worth,” says Zero. He’s stuck his head in the fridge, moving things around to pull out a bottle of beer. “You want some?”

Takumi shakes his head. “I have a nine AM tomorrow.”

“It’s always healthy to be a little drunk when you’re doing art.” Zero expertly pops the cap off with a tap from the pinky side of his hand. “You know, write drunk, edit sober.”

“If I tried to sew a garment while drunk I’d get my hand stabbed through with the needle,” Takumi says dryly.

“You never did know when to let your hair down,” laughs Zero. “A shame. Your hair is so pretty. It’s no wonder you’ve bewitched Leon’s little icy heart.”

Takumi’s learned months ago to ignore his barbs. He instead stares at the dripping liquid.

When the coffee finishes dripping, he pours it all into a thermos black (no sugar or milk, just as Leon likes it) and leaves the suite, heading downstairs to walk half a block around to the fashion studio building. The Empire State lights the sky up in a brilliant shade of Easter-egg blue. This time of year, the wind likes to funnel through the straight grid streets of Manhattan, making Fifth Avenue a particularly deadly place to be, especially for people with long hair or lots of loose papers. Takumi zips his jacket up to his chest and clutches the thermos a little tighter.

He nods briefly to the security guard at the entrance before taking the elevator up to the fifth floor and walking past the lockers and the open space occupied with tables and couches. One of the windows next to a door has its light still on. Takumi peers through. He can just make out a slumped over bag from Mood Fabrics, cloth and patternmaking paper spilling everywhere on the table. He cracks the door open.

“Leon?”

No response. Takumi edges himself into the room quietly. It’s quiet, which is weird, because he’d have thought that Leon would be slaving away at one of the machines, or that Leon would have some kind of weird modern classical music playing through the speakers while he stuck pins on a dress form.

“Leon?” he says again, walking through the worktables, and stops.

One of Leon’s thin hands is closed loosely around a pincushion sitting on the cloth worktable. The other is wrapped around the waist of a mannequin half-draped with dark indigo fabric. His blond head is resting in the slight curve of the mannequin’s back, shoulders rising and falling steadily. Takumi sets the thermos down on the table.

“Leon,” he says a little louder, shaking Leon’s shoulders. “Leon, wake up.”

Leon grunts sleepily, and removes his head from his position on the mannequin. He looks around, squinting, and sees Takumi standing over him. “Shit,” he says.

“I brought you coffee,” says Takumi, “but actually, I don’t think you should drink it.”

“No,” Leon says. He blinks, trying to adjust his eyes to the fluorescent lights. “No, I need to finish this tonight so I can get started on my paper…”

“You need to sleep,” says Takumi firmly.

Leon doesn’t say anything for a while, just rubs his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “It’s just. You know.”

“I know,” says Takumi, leaning in to kiss Leon on the cheek, not mentioning how cute he thinks Leon’s hair is, sticking up in all directions like that. “It’s dangerous to sew when you’re falling asleep on your feet. Come on.”

They gather up the rest of the fabric and thread, remove the spool of thread from the machine Leon had been using, and turn off the lights when they leave. Leon doesn’t say anything when Takumi twines their fingers together, all the way to the door of his dorm room.

“Takumi,” he says, when Takumi’s hands linger, unwilling to let go.

“Yes?” Takumi says innocently.

Leon looks down at their hands. “Thanks,” he says quietly.

“You’re welcome.”

They kiss briefly, chastely. Only when Leon pulls away does Takumi reluctantly let go of his hand.

“Good night,” Leon says.

“Good night.”

**Author's Note:**

> majors, for those that are curious:
> 
> \- takumi, leon, oboro: fashion design  
> \- hinata: product design  
> \- zero: photography  
> \- odin: theatre/drama performance  
> \- lazwald: design management
> 
> also drakengard 3 is wild and i love it.


End file.
